The Story of Laerin
by Odysseus42
Summary: When young Laerin's village is raided by orcs, he sets out into the woods, his only defence a sword passed down his family for generations, that he doesn't know how to use. Soon, the idea of revenge enters his mind. But how will he gain revenge on an army of orcs, when he cannot even wield a sword? Luckily, on his travels, he meets a ranger from the north, by the name of Strider.


**Hi everyone!**

 **I'd like to just say that this story may be incorrect in terms of the Tolkein universe cannon - I have made up some history and stuff, but I have tried to keep it as close to the books as I can.**

 **You'll see what I mean as the story progresses.**

 **THIS FIC IS SET A BIT BEFORE ARAGORN TRACKS DOWN GOLLUM (SO BEFORE ANY OF THE LORD OF THE RINGS HAPPENS), just thought it would be useful to know that...**

 **Also, if anyone has any name suggestions at any point, I would be grateful to know! (I'm really bad at names, as you can see from the title of this story!)**

 **Anyway, I really hope you enjoy the story - It's my first LOTR fanfiction!**

The fifteen year old boy sat by the campfire, unmoving, staring into the bright flames. Orange fire glistened behind his blue pupils.

 _"_ _Run, Laerin! Get away!"_

 _The smoke covers everything._

 _Someone screams out in pain._

 _Cruel laughter._

 _"_ _Mother! Father!"_

 _"_ _Run! Please!"_

 _Backing away into the trees._

 _The orc with the twisted club._

 _Walking forwards._

 _"_ _Well, what do we have here?"_

 _Running into the forest._

 _The screams fading._

 _Footsteps behind._

 _Running and running._

 _Never stopping._

 _The darkness._

 _The screams are only faint, in the distance._

 _Looking back to see the specs of yellow flames in between the trees._

 _Then running._

 _And running._

The boy put out the camp fire. He could stand it no longer.

He heard his own heavy breathing through the silence of the forest. The dampness of the floor chilled him; his only protection from the elements was a thin jacket over his shirt, his only protection from danger, the sword. He remembered what his father had said: As long as you have this sword, you will be safe. The boy didn't feel safe. The boy felt the opposite of safe. Suddenly, more memories of earlier that night flooded back into his head. He tried to push them out; he didn't want them there. Tears started to well up in his eyes. _Don't think about that, Laerin. Don't think about it. Just don't._ But he couldn't not think about it; it needed to be thought. It pulled on his thoughts.

 _I am alone._ The words echoed around his head as he thought them. _Everyone I know is dead. I have nowhere to go. The nearest town is a 5 days' walk. I am going to die. I'm going to die, out here in the woods. In the place I used to love the most out of all the places in the world._ He put his head in his hands, the tears running through the gaps between his fingers.

Suddenly he didn't care about anything anymore.

So, he cried. For his parents, for his village, and for himself; his despair was heavy.

He cried for what seemed like hours. After that, he couldn't cry any more. All his tears had left him. He had nothing else to give. He looked up into the darkness in front of him.

Then he thought, _the night won't last forever. The darkness will go soon, and the sun will rise. Then it won't be so bad._ But in that moment, it felt like the darkness would never go.

 _Yes it will,_ he told himself. _The darkness will go away, it has to. It will be alright then. I can survive in the forest; I know how, I remember everything father taught me. I cannot go into the city; father said it's not safe for us there, us being who we are, but I can go to the next village. It's far away, but I can make it, I know I can._

 _I am Laerin, son of Laedhros and I will survive._

He settled himself on the ground, and tried to sleep, pushing down any thoughts that would lead to more tears.

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The boy awoke at first light. He quickly gathered his bag and put the sword in its sheath, hanging it on a strap of his bag.

 _What good is it,_ he thought, _having a sword I don't know how to use?_ He had seen his father use it before; he said he would teach him next summer. Now that would never happen. _If only I had my bow. My good, trusty bow, and some nice, homemade arrows. Then I could hunt and defend myself. I could have some tasty rabbit for lunch, or some squirrel, or – Stop, Laerin. No point thinking about what could have been._

He sighed and kicked some leaves over the ashes of the camp fire. _Now, which way to go?_ He remembered which way the village was, so he decided to go the opposite way. Oh, how he wanted to go back to the village, bury his parents, say goodbye properly. But the orcs might still be there. Just thinking about his parents brought up a funny feeling in his chest, and wet his eyes. He set off, away from the village, and towards the far away mountains.

Soon the hunger came, gnawing at his stomach. He hadn't had any food in his bag to start with, only a small water skin, and now, all he could think about was food. He decided to occupy his thoughts with something else. _I can't go across the mountains. I don't even know the way anywhere. But I need to get out of the forest. If I keep walking, I have to come out of it at some point._

And so, he walked.

He walked through the forest for days and days, eating nothing but berries, fruit and a few fish he had managed to trap.

 _Maybe I'll just be wondering around this forest for ever and ever,_ he thought, as he crossed the stream, carefully avoiding getting his boots wet. _What am I going to do anyway? Even once I get to a village or town, what then? Maybe I'll turn into one of those rangers, wandering around the woods, and doing whatever they do._

The boy's father had told him stories of the rangers. Kings fallen from grace, drifters who travelled from town to town, or from forest to forest, without homes of their own, or families. The boy had never thought of leaving his village before, and certainly not like this.

His father had said that he never planned to stay in the village in the first place, but then he met Laerin's mother, and decided to stay and be a farmer. He had never said exactly what he was before. Just a traveller, that was all he ever said. _Now I'll never know,_ thought Laerin, a feeling of sadness again rising in his chest.

The boy settled down for the night, in a small cave by the river side.

As he set the sword down, he had a strange desire to take it out of its scabbard. He unrolled the bits of cloth around it, and unsheathed it, a metallic ringing filling the cave as he did so. He weighed it in his hands, then tried to emulate what his father used to do. He took a step forward, and swung the sword, surprised at how light it felt in his hands. He swung it again, this time in a different direction, and took a step to the right. He did it again and again, feeling a rhythm emerge. Finally, he stopped, his chest heaving, feeling his heart beat rise. He held the sword up to the light, and for the first time noticed the letters engraved there, in some unknown language. He desperately wanted to know what it said, and what language it was written in. But his father would never tell him, not now.

The boy put the sword away in its sheath and stuffed the bits of cloth into his bag. He wouldn't be needing them anymore. Tomorrow, he would wear the sword on his belt.

Again, he remembered what his father had said. The sword would keep him safe.

 **I'm going to try and update at least once a week (I do have school and stuff so might be later some times, sorry!).**

 **Reviews would really be much appreciated, and give me motivation to keep writing!**

 **Thanks for reading,**

 **Odysseus**


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